


Astraea

by CinnaAtHeart



Series: The Adventures of Taser Woman and Assassin Man [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Bucky needs a hug, Darcy has superpowers, F/M, Look both ways before crossing the road, Mutant Darcy, and Thai food, and eat your vegetables, cause we all love porn, featuring Bucky Barnes' backpack of memories, i'll never stop making these 5+1 fics, rating changed for porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Darcy Lewis 'saves' a hobo called James, and the one time he saves her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Muggings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For the lovely and talented miin. I seriously suggest you go and check out her fics; she is insanely talented and her smut is top notch. ^.^
> 
> Darcy's powers are taken from Awkardnormalcy's wonderful fic [Whoah, there Sparky ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5515544), with a little more pizazz added because I could.

It’s close to two am when she hears the sounds of a scuffle outside her apartment.

Darcy’s making her way home- feeling tired and dirty and 100% invested in getting out of her costume to fall face first into bed, but unsurprisingly, fate has other ideas. Other ideas in the form of four extremely drunk men attempting to rob whom she assumes is a hobo, judging by the dirty clothes and unwashed hair.

She groans quietly at the sight of it, monumentally pissed by the endless stream of lowlifes this city nurtures. Darcy brings herself down, manoeuvring carefully to stand on the thin line of a chain link fence; she doesn’t miss the way Hobo’s eyes widen at her appearance.

“Seriously?” she asks loudly, hands on her belt like she’s seen Captain America do countless times (it’s a gratifying pose, she finds). “It’s two in the morning. Don’t you guys have better things to do? I hear sleeping is all the rage these days.”

The men curse in surprise. One of them falls on their ass. Hobo is still staring at her- he seems kind of out of it; Darcy hopes the guys haven’t given him a concussion. That would really suck.

One of the men seems to recover from shock with a small shake of his head, which is unfortunate. Somehow he manages to leer at Darcy even from her vantage point several feel above his head. Gross.

“The fuck are _you_?”

She rolls her eyes. “Tired, mostly. And not in the mood for your shit, so be a dear and clear off.”

He smiles at her and- _huh_ \- doesn’t actually look as drunk as she’d first thought. “Why don’t you make me?”

“Buddy, don’t _make_ me make you clear off.”

The grin turns malicious and he flicks the knife in his hand. It’d be impressive- probably- were she not so pissed off. “Bring it, Sugartits.”

Darcy’s eyes widen but she grins at him in challenge. Jane would probably be really concerned if she ever learnt how much Darcy likes to fight. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll be _happy_ to oblige.” And she jumps down from the fence, pulling up in front of him to punch him square in the jaw.

His body stiffens, eyes widening as his fingers twitch spasmodically and Darcy smiles at him sweetly as he flies backwards, falling like a sack of potatoes. Out like a fucking _light_. Energy crackles across her fingers before fading back into her skin.

“Anyone else wanna be a punk?” she asks with a wicked grin. She knows that it looks especially terrifying with the bloody red lipstick; she’s practiced enough times in her mirror.

The men shake their heads, glancing between their felled friend, the hobo and herself. Darcy lets a little more energy crackle across her palms and takes a threatening step forwards. “Boys, do you _really_ think it’s worth it?”

They flee, clearly not interested in fighting a mutant.

“Nice to meet you!” she crows after them, cackling a little. She sighs in relief as soon as they’re gone though, and reaches up to scratch her head. Her scalp feels sweaty and itchy beneath the wig, despite the less-than-balmy temperatures of mid-October.

“You okay?” she asks, turning back to Hobo. The guy is glaring at her angrily and she blinks at him in surprise.

“I didn’t need your help,” he growls. Darcy blinks at him again. He’s still sitting on his ass. There’s a bruise rapidly forming on his chin- turning an ugly purple at an astonishing rate.

“Sure you didn’t,” she drawls, recovering from her surprise quickly. “That’s why you were just letting those four guys beat the shit out of you.”

The glare intensifies, and his jaw clenches. If she were anyone else, she’s sure she might be intimidated, but Darcy has stared down an Asgardian destroyer and an invasion of dark elves and survived. A little crazy eyes merits a callous shrug, at most.

“The situation was under control.”

She raises a doubtful eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment further, not really in the mood to continue with a pointless conversation. She’s tired, and she has a class to teach later today. “Sure it was. Whatever dude,” she turns away from him, ready to fly back to her apartment.

“What about the other guy?”

Darcy pauses, glancing back to the passed-out idiot, still crumpled on the ground where he’d fallen. She shrugs. “He’s alive, if that’s what you were wondering. Do what you want with him, I guess,” Darcy frowns, thinking better of it. “Or actually, maybe not- don’t kill him, please.”

The hobo scowls. If he maybe washed once in a while, Darcy thinks he could probably be halfway attractive. “I’m not gonna kill him.”

“Well that’s a relief. Then call the cops or something. I’m leaving though, before the cops turn up on their own- they’ve an annoying habit of doing that. Stay safe, Crazy-Eyes.”

And with that, she launches herself up, flying away to the relative peace and security of her piece of shit apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Astraea - (from gods-and-monsters.com) "Astraea is a minor but important goddess from Greek mythology. Known as the 'Star Maiden' or 'Star Goddess', she is best known for being the last immortal to live among the humans on Earth before leaving in disgust of humanity's brutality and wickedness... Often called 'the virgin goddess', Astraea is best known as a goddess of Justice."


	2. Taxis

Darcy dislikes the rain.

It’s cold and wet and fucks with her hair something awful. Give her bright skies and hot days any time of the year. But unfortunately, she lives in New York and it’s the rainy season, which means frequent showers that leave puddles of water for her to navigate. Not to mention it makes her nightly exploits an absolute _bitch._ She bought a can of waterproofing spray the other day, coating the shit out of her jacket and her usual pair of leggings in a mediocre attempt at keeping some of the rain away. It didn’t work, and the past few nights Darcy’s returned home frozen and bedraggled, feeling like a wet alley cat.

It’s made her ill-tempered, and Darcy is loathe to admit that she’s been taking her woes out on her students and Jane, but it’s true nonetheless.

She’s running late this Tuesday and looking it, hair thrown into a haphazard bun, clothes slightly crumpled and her customary lipstick sitting in the bottom of her bag to be applied on the subway. Darcy’s fairly certain she’s forgotten something important, but for now she can’t think of it and she refuses to let herself worry.

Despite her hurry, Darcy easily catches sight of the guy, trapped as she is in a particularly slow-moving section of foot traffic. He stands on the curb, lost in thought as he stares down at the ground. She only catches sight of him in profile, but there’s something about the grim line of his mouth that feels familiar. He’s dressed innocuously enough in jeans and an unremarkable cargo jacket- bulky in places in a way that suggests he’s wearing lots of layers (which in a city like this, with a pastime like hers, has more than a few alarm bells ringing)- and his backpack is dirty, careworn and sagging, as though not filled with terribly much.

Despite the rain, he seems uninterested in the way it drips from the rim of his cap- pulled low over his face like he’s trying to hide from the world- and down below his collar. He looks boring- just another guy down on hard times stuck in the rain in the city that never sleeps.

And Darcy doesn’t know why she does it; doesn’t know why there’s something in the back of her mind shrieking at her- has her cutting through the crowd to reach out and wrap her hand around the handle of his backpack and forcefully tug him backwards, away from the taxi speeding towards them as it tries to make the green light.

They fall, the guy’s arm flying backwards as they go down, hitting her in the ribs. He lands heavily on top of her, crying out just as the taxi tears past them, honking viciously at the two of them. She feels something give under her hand and hears the _rrrp_ of fabric tearing and there are shouts around them, but Darcy’s attention is on the man, turning in her grip to straddle her, a hand curling into a fist above her head threateningly.

“Whoa!” she wheezes, trying desperately to pull air back into her lungs. “Whoa- _dude,_ chill!” In her peripheral, she can see people stopping to watch them in concern.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the man hisses at her through bared teeth, and for the briefest of moments Darcy is afraid, before she remembers that if worst comes to worse, she can just zap him.

“I just saved your fucking life, asshole!” she growls back, and the man blinks, blindsided by the ferocity of her reply. “Did you fucking _see_ that taxi you were about to walk in front of?”

He frowns down at her, looking confused. “A… taxi?”

She nods at him, and winces as pain shoots _through_ her head. She must have hit it on the pavement. “Now, you wanna get off me dude? _Before_ someone calls the cops?” she looks pointedly to the side, and the man’s eyes widen at the realisation that they have an audience. “Kinda been making a scene.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and scrambles off her, pausing in a crouch to stare at her. Notebooks and loose sheets of paper lie around them, scribbled with illegible writing in black biro and she winces as she sits up carefully. She must have torn his backpack open. “Shit,” he grunts, and begins gathering the paper together, looking distressed as he realises they’re getting wet with the rain. “ _Shit!”_

Darcy sighs heavily, and picks up the notebook closest to her. The man stiffens at the movement, but Darcy just rolls her eyes. “Chill, man. I won’t read anything, I promise.” He swallows, studying her face for a long moment, before nodding and going back to picking up his notes. Darcy sighs heavily again and tries not to think about what they might say.

“Honey?” someone says tentatively. Darcy glances up as she hands over the notebook. An older woman- mid sixties- hovers beside them, looking unsure. She’s gripping a smartphone tightly in her left hand. “Would you like me to call the cops?”

The man stiffens and Darcy smiles at the lady reassuringly. “It’s okay ma’am. He’s a friend.”

His head snaps over to her, surprised, and the woman looks between the two of them, dubious. Much of their audience has already moved on- bored or in a hurry to get to who knows where. “Are you sure? You two… fell pretty hard.”

She nods. “I’m hardier than I look, ma’am. I shouldn’t have startled Andy like that,” she glances back at ‘Andy’, feigning sheepishness. “He’s a vet.”

Her eyes widen in understanding and she tutts sympathetically. “My husband served in ‘Nam. Took a while for me to get used to him when he came back too.” She smiles down at her ‘friend’. “Thank-you for your service, young man.”

He nods at her cautiously but doesn’t reply and Darcy smiles and shrugs, heaving herself up carefully. She keeps her discomfort off her face as her ribs twinge and her head throbs worrying. The lady nods to the both of them, and moves on, tucking her phone back into her handbag as she leaves. The rest of their crowd disperses, and Darcy offers the guy her hand. He ignores it in favour of standing by himself, clutching his broken backpack to his chest as though it were a precious thing.

She recognises him, she realises. The ungrateful hobo from last month. It takes every ounce of strength in her system to stop herself from blurting out ‘holy shit it’s you’ at him. If possible, she feels even worse about breaking his backpack.

“I’m really sorry about your bag,” Darcy says, trying to come up with some kind of peace offering. She is going to be _so_ late today. “Here,” she picks her own bag up off the ground, for once grateful that she’s too poor to own real leather, and rummages through it to find her wallet, “let me pay you back. I think I have some cash in here, you can-” she looks up. “Oh.”

The space in front of her is empty. She glances around herself, searching for him, but he’s disappeared- melted into the crowd of pedestrians as though he never existed at all.

She sighs. “Goddammit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were ever wondering about what exactly all those notes were in Bucky's backpack, I'd like to direct you to [this link](http://www.dailydot.com/geek/captain-america-civil-war-bucky-barnes-backpack-sebastian-stan-answer/), and then, if you'd  _really_ like some emotional carnage, you should check out [this tumblr pos](http://nata0429.tumblr.com/post/142115783747)t too. 


	3. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy eats some vegetables.

“Janie, I _swear_ , everything is fine. You don’t need to keep accompanying me like this.”

“ _See, you say that_ ,” Jane remarks and Darcy rolls her eyes, grateful that the diminutive scientist at least never insisted to _actually_ escort her home, “ _but I’m not convinced. And don’t you roll your eyes at me, Darcy Lewis!_ ”

Darcy straightens from her slouch, glancing around suspiciously. “Jane, are you… are you stalking me?”

Jane snorts. “ _Oh please, I don’t need a direct link to every cctv camera in New York to know that you’re rolling your eyes at me._ ”

“That’s not a no.”

A pause. “ _Well I mean, Tony did offer, but I thought that would be an invasion of privacy._ ”

Darcy worries at the cut on her lip. Someone managed to get the drop on her last night, and no amount of concealer could hide the fat lip and bruise over her jaw from an observant and overly inquisitive Jane Foster. She’d noticed the cut on her lip almost instantly and had ambushed her in the bathroom with a cloth soaked with makeup remover. “And we all know that you’d _hate_ to do that.”

“ _I maintain that calling in Natasha was a legitimate move._ ”

“Oh, it was a legit move alright,” Darcy grouses, effectively dodging some random asshole standing in the middle of the footpath. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t dirty as shit.”

“ _But you can’t argue with the results._ ”

“I can, and I will- I _tripped_ , Jane. I’m not a victim of some kind of abusive relationship I’ve been hiding from you.”

“ _And I never said you were!_ ” Jane protests. “ _But New York’s a big city, Darcy, and you’re a pretty woman who has a tendency to run her mouth. I worry.”_

Darcy sighs heavily, glancing both ways as she crosses the street. She grits her teeth against the cold and awkwardly tries to turn up the collar of her coat with one hand. It’s been bitterly cold for the past several days, and she spares a moment of sympathy for all the people stuck on the streets at this time of year. “I get it, Jane. I do. But I’m a big girl, and it’s not as if I’m- uh- defenceless.”

“ _A taser has limited shots Darcy! What happens if you’re ambushed? What happens if they knock it out of your grip! And I won’t even start on how very_ illegal _they are here!_ ”

She grimaces. Part of her wonders if it would just be easier to tell Jane that she didn’t even _need_ her taser to defend herself. “I understand your concerns, but do you really have to keep me on the phone? I can walk home without any issue, you know.”

“ _Can you? Because that bruise told me a different story, Darce._ ”

“I. _Tripped._ ”

“ _And Bruce used to be a ballet dancer! Natasha says it looks exactly like someone punched you in the mouth, and she’s a superspy, so forgive me if I think you’re hiding the truth from me._ ”

Darcy’s quiet for a moment, the guilt of her lie strong enough to choke her. “I’m okay, Janie. Really. I can take of myself.”

Jane sighs, loud enough for Darcy to hear over the phone. “ _I know, Darce. But give me this comfort of mind, please._ ”

Darcy hums, gaze lingering on the alley she passes. “Well, it will please you to know that I’m walking up the stairs to my apartment right now. And fancy that; I made it all the way home without incident! A bonafide miracle!”

“ _You could at least pretend you’re happy to humour me, Darcy,_ ” Jane says dryly, and Darcy just _knows_ it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “ _I don’t know why you won’t just live at the Tower with the rest of us. It’d put my mind at ease, at least._ ”

“You know my reasons,” Darcy grouses, and she lets her bag fall into the crook of her elbow so she can rummage through the pockets for her keys. Darcy wonders at her bag’s remarkable ability to hide everything she puts in there, cursing softly when the keys aren’t where they should be. “I maintain that they’re very good reasons.”

“ _Tch,_ ” Jane says derisively, and Darcy hears the sounds of something metal clattering to the ground. She hopes it’s nothing important. “ _Contrary to what Tony says, they’re not actually all insane. And the Tower is one of the most secure places in New York!_ ”

“Pfft! Jane the _entire_ building is just a big accident waiting to happen! If the Avengers don’t kill each other, then some bright spark is gonna put two and two together and hit them where it hurts. And Tony can make that building as secure as he wants, but unless he’s got a few laser cannons hiding under all that glass, nothing he can do will protect you from a rocket launcher or three.”

It’s not the real reason why she doesn’t want to live there, of course. It was hard enough trying to keep her powers under wraps when it was just Darcy and Jane living together in Puente Antiguo and London; harder still to keep those powers _and_ her job on the side a secret when you’re under twenty-four hour surveillance from an AI that never sleeps (not even mentioning the people who actually _live_ there). But as excuses go, it’s true enough that Jane has never really pushed for her to move in.

“Ha!” she crows when her fingers finally close around her keys, fishing them out from the corner of her bag so she can finally get inside the building. She breathes out happily as the door closes with a definitive _click_ behind her, finally escaping the freezing winds. “You hear that Jane? That was the sound of me getting inside, so you can leave me be now.”

“ _Okay, Darcy- but I really do think you should-_ ”

“Hanging up now, Jane.”

“ _Darcy! Please, if you could just-”_

“Sorry, Janie,” Darcy sighs, walking up the stairs with feet that ache. It’s been a long day. “But you know the rule; I will not live under the same roof as Tony Stark, no matter how much I love you. Besides, I just got the tv where I like it.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Jane grumbles. “ _I’ll drop it, for now_.”

“You do that,” she takes in door of her apartment. It doesn’t look like anyone’s tampered with it, and she lets herself in. “I’m home now, so if you don’t mind, I’m gonna have a nap and order some takeout.”

“ _Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. But Darce?_ ”

“Mm?”

“ _No pizza tonight! You’d better eat something with vegetables in it, or so help me I will find out and shove a head of broccoli down your throat_.”

Darcy wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t much care for broccoli. “Well that’s horrifyingly graphic.” She eyes the take-out menus on her fridge speculatively as she toes off her boots. “I’m thinking Thai tonight.”

“ _Thai sounds good. Love coconut rice._ ”

“Same,” Darcy dumps her bag on her tiny kitchen bench and wanders into her bedroom to wiggle out of her skirt, leaving it lying where it falls. “And on that note, I really am hanging up now.”

“ _Alright. Don’t forget those vegetables!_ ”

“Yes _mom_ ,” she snarks, and ends the call, tossing the phone down on her bed. She breathes out slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before the cold of her apartment gets the better of her and she goes hunting for some pants. She pulls the takeout menu for the Thai place a few blocks away and retreats back to her bedroom, joining her phone on the bed to make the call.

Twenty minutes later and she’s letting the delivery girl up and paying her, letting the food rest on the laminate bench as she hunts for some bowls she doesn’t mind losing, letting them join the Thai food in another plastic bag. She grabs a disposable bag from her bedroom and picks out a pair of socks, gloves and scarf from her growing pile of second-hand store finds and stuffs it into the bag, along with a blanket that’s a bit on the grungy side and smells faintly of mothballs, but is warm nonetheless. She’d have had one already set up, but she gave out the last bag two nights ago.

Satisfied, she collects her assortment of bags. “Wish me luck,” she says, blowing a kiss to the framed portrait of Thor, Jane and Erik- the only picture on her walls (the picture of her brother lies on the bedside table in her bedroom)- and leaves, making sure to lock the door behind her before skipping down the stairs. The bowls clink in their bag, metal scratching across their surface. She wonders if Jane would have a coronary if she ever found out this is what she does in her spare time. Deep down, she hopes she’d be proud.

She grits her teeth at the wash of cold air that greets her outside and pauses for a moment in front of her building, rearranging her scarf to completely cover the skin exposed by her v-neck sweater. She sighs heavily, feeling sad that she has to do this at all, before going back the way she came, stopping at the mouth of the alley she’d passed before.

“Did Damien send you?”

Silence from the alleyway, but Darcy knows he hears her loud and clear. She watches the man shift, huddled against a dumpster amongst a substantial collection of cardboard boxes. He look up at her, face shadowed by a Captain America cap that brings a slight smile to her face.

“He said,” the man rasps eventually, “I’d find a friend.”

Darcy holds up her collection of bags. “It’s not much, but it’s help all the same… mind if I join you?”

He’s quiet again, studying her. A frown gathers between his brows. “You’re that girl- from the other day. You called me Andy.”

Her eyes widen in understanding, and yeah, now that she really looks she recognises him easily enough. The cap is different, but the jacket and gloves are the same- if a little grimier- and she’d recognise those icy eyes of his anywhere. “Oh,” she says dumbly. “You’re the- uh- taxi guy.”

Her raises an unimpressed brow at her. “You called me a vet.”

She shrugs helplessly, and walks towards him, making sure to telegraph her movements when he stiffens slightly. “Yeah, sorry about that. It was the only thing I could think of to get the lady off our backs.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine,” he says haltingly, pale eyes following her as she picks up a stray piece of cardboard and sets it on the ground in front of him. “I- I am one.”

Darcy smiles at him, and sits down on the cardboard, setting the bags down between them. “I suspected as much. You’ve the look of one.” He looks mildly affronted, and she amends herself, “Around the eyes. You’ve seen shit.”

He snorts, glancing down at his knees. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Her mouth twitches into a rueful smile. “I’m sorry about your bag. I would have paid you back for it, but you’d already… well.”

He shrugs, looking at the mouth of the alley as a man in business attire strolls past, paying neither of them any mind. “It’s fine. Easy to fix.”

Darcy nods slowly, and lets the issue slide. “My name’s Darcy, by the way.”

He stares at her for a long moment, gaze intense. Darcy feels as though he’s staring straight into her soul. “James.”

She smiles at him. “Hi James. It’s nice to properly meet you.” He presses his lips together tightly in reply, and Darcy takes it as permission enough to carry on. “I have food and some clothes, if you’ll have them.”

He remains silent and Darcy unpacks her bags- bowls and cutlery first, then the takeout. James watches with hungry eyes and Darcy tries hard not to wonder when the last time he ate was. “I hope you like Thai food.”

“Never had it,” he says slowly, his eyes linger on the second bowl she sets out before looking up at her, surprised. “You’re going to… eat with me?”

Darcy huffs a laugh. “It’s my dinner time too.”

James grimaces. “And you’d rather eat it with… someone like me? Don’t you have friends- family? Can’t imagine I’m great company.”

She opens the tub of coconut rice, humming happily as the slightly sweet smell reaches her nose. “Well so far you’ve managed to hold a conversation with me, so honestly you’re a step up from eating in front of the tv.”

He peers at her curiously as she helps herself to the Massaman curry. “You’re very… trusting, for a woman. Can’t imagine many would want to be near people like me.”

Darcy smiles at him, a little steely around the eyes. “People ‘like you’ are still people, James. I can handle myself. I’m not afraid. _Although_ ,” she levels him with a stern glare, “I’m warning you now, if you _do_ have any less-than-savoury inclinations towards me, I will tase your ass so hard you won’t remember who you are for a _week_.”

James barks out a bitter laugh at that, his eyes widening at the sound, as though he’s not heard himself laugh for so long he’s forgotten what it sounds like. “Goes both ways, doll.”

They share a grin and Darcy motions to the food, steaming slightly in the cold air. “Help yourself. There’s plenty of food.”

He picks up the rice, sniffing it cautiously. “What are they?”

She points at the cartons with her fork. “Coconut rice, Massaman curry, Red curry, Pad Ped and Pad Pak. Mild, if you were worried about blasting off your tastebuds,”she frowns at the overcast skies above them, a sickly yellow as they reflect the light of the city back down on them. “Though in this weather, some heat would probably be appreciated, I guess.”

He shrugs, and begins serving himself, sniffing and tasting each dish carefully before putting some in his bowl. He takes a generous helping of the Pad Pak and Darcy approves whole heartedly. Vegetables are important.

(That said, she picks out the broccoli in her Pad Ped and doesn’t feel guilty about it at all.)

They eat in relative silence, content to focus on the food, and she pushes the Massaman curry towards James when she notices that he’s been eyeing it. “You can have as much as you want,” she says quietly. “Don’t hold back on my account.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and takes the whole container. She grins and goes back to her own food.

“You know,” Darcy starts eventually, resting her empty bowl in her lap. James spares her a glance as he starts on the Red curry, mixing it with the rice to soak up some of the sauce. “There’s a shelter a few blocks from here.”

He pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth. “And?”

She shrugs. “It’s only going to get colder from here. Maybe you should think about checking it out, keep yourself warm over winter.”

His face darkens. “No.”

Darcy’s shoulders sink. “I don’t know how long you’ve been homeless for, James, but New York winters are harsh, no matter how many layers you have on.”

James shrugs. “I’ve been colder. Save the shelters for the ones that need it.”

She bites her lip but doesn’t argue with him. He’ll either go or he won’t. “Okay.”

He tilts his head, surprised. “Okay?”

It’s her turn to shrug. “I’m not going to argue with you, James. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”

James huffs a laugh. He has the look of someone laughing at a secret joke. “That’s an understatement,” he says dryly. Darcy bites her lip to hide her smile and puts her bowl down in front of her to stand. James looks up at her, startled. “You’re leaving?”

“I have papers to mark,” Darcy admits reluctantly.

“What about the food?”

“Keep what’s left.”

“But- you _paid_ for it. It’s yours.”

She shrugs, brushing dirt from her rear. “And I have a job. Two, actually. They pay quite well. It’s no skin off my back.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding almost disappointed. Darcy smiles at him in sympathy.

“If you ever need a friend, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

His gaze skitters away from her. “I will,” he says, and Darcy knows he’s lying. She sighs heavily.

“Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Darcy,” he replies. “And thank-you.”

“You’re very welcome.” She moves to leave, but pauses, turning around to point at the wall. “Do you mind taking that off once you’re done?”

He nods at her and Darcy smiles. She’s certain this isn’t the last time she’ll see him.

When she passes through the alley later that night, ready to start her patrol of the streets, the place is empty, the chalk shelter symbol carefully cleaned from the brick wall, as though it had never been there at all.


	4. Sputnik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy shares some hot chocolate with our favorite neighbourhood hobo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo it kinda feels like these chapters are almost doubling in size every time ^.^ Good news you you guys, I guess :P

Darcy’s life goes on as usual.

She stops muggings, escorts women to safety, prevents senseless deaths and countless other shit that would make her heart ache if she spared a moment to think about it. The media gets a hold of her story at some point and it blows up with stories of the ‘mysterious woman with silver hair and a smile like sin’. _The Bugle_ spouts its usual bullshit of ‘vigilante justice equals unspeakable evil’, but there’s still more than a few flattering articles about the slowly growing number of small-time heroes prowling the streets of New York.

Some ironically-minded punk gives her the name Astraea- maiden goddess of the moon or some such bullshit- and the name takes off. Darcy doesn’t care- she’s not here for the publicity (not that it stops her from tracking the tag on social networking sites).

It’s midnight in early December, and Darcy is _bored_. It’s been a quiet night; no crime to speak of, but for a few unfortunate drivers pulled over by the cops for running a red light.

It’s not particularly surprising. Ever since Daredevil brought Fisk’s empire crashing down around his head, Hell’s Kitchen and a good number of the surrounding neighbourhoods have been remarkably calmer. Not for much longer, she suspects, but for the time being there is peace. But Darcy makes the rounds anyway, floating between buildings with powers she doesn’t really understand but is grateful for, searching and listening for any signs of malcontent.

She’s about to call it a night when she hears the sound of a van door sliding open and several heavy booted feet spilling out.

Curious, she follows it. There’s an unmarked black van (suspicious in and of itself) sitting outside an alley with the engine running. A guy leans against the passenger door, the tip of his cigarette a little spark of red in the darkness. Darcy flies past him, unnoticed, and comes down closer once sheltered by the shadows of the poorly lit alley.

There are five heavily armed men surrounding some guy who’s backed up against a wall. Darcy frowns at the scene; she’d usually leave anything of this nature alone- they’re dressed like a SWAT team- but she can’t see any identifying marks on their gear or uniforms.

“No more running, soldier,” one of the men snarls. He’s got a rifle pointed straight at the guy’s head.

The man’s eyes flicker up at her, eyes widening a fraction in surprise before his attention returns back to his assailants. “No,” he says simply.

The head goon laughs at him. “That wasn’t a choice.”

Darcy brings herself down right behind him, smirking. “I don’t know about you, but when someone says no, it usually means no.”

And with that, she grips his face with both hands and zaps him into oblivion.

The alley explodes into movement, the guy launching himself at another one of the goons. Darcy jumps and flies through the air, punching another guy with her electrified fist and dodging some idiot coming at her with his gun instead of trying to shoot her with it. She kicks him down at the knees and he topples, landing on the ground with a heavy _thump;_ she tazes him too for good measure.

It seems like the fight lasts barely longer than half a minute before all the uniformed men are lying on the cold hard ground. Some of them are still twitching, and there’s the mildly disconcerting scent of blood in the air, but none of them look dead, which is a comfort.

“You okay?” she asks carefully, peering at the guy through the fringe of her wig. He looks kind of familiar, but she sees so many homeless guys that they all kind of blur together.

He straightens from his crouch over one of the goons, scowling at her. “You again.”

Darcy raises a brow and takes him in. Tall, kink of bulky for a hobo, lanky hair and pale blue eyes. James. She’d barely recognised him without a cap on, and his beard has grown considerably since she shared a meal with him in November.

“Huh,” she murmurs, and has to remind herself that Astraea has no reason to know his name. He bends over another of the goons and pockets something, too quick for her to catch. “You’re the guy from the attempted mugging a few months back. Crazy-Eyes”

He scowls at her. Darcy suspects it’s his default expression. “And you’re the girl with the zappy hands. Anthea.”

“Astraea.”

“Whatever. I didn’t need your help.”

Darcy can’t help it; she rolls her eyes. “Well I mean, that’s obvious _now_ ; you just felled like, two guys with your _fists_. But it doesn’t matter if you needed it or not. Wasn’t just going to let those assholes pick some poor guy off the street. I’ve got a reputation to keep, ya know.”

The scowl lessens and he shifts. Light from the street catches on his hand, flashing silver. She tilts her head, curious- she’d never noticed it before, but then again, he’d always been wearing gloves- and James shifts again, holding his arm behind himself. “Nice hand,” she remarks, nodding at it. “Bit odd for a hobo to be sporting.”

The scowl returns full force and she hears the sound of whirring gears- presumably from his arm. Interesting. “Go away.”

Darcy levels him with an unimpressed stare. “You know-” she starts. One of the men at her feet shifts, looking up at the two of them. She moves towards him just as he grunts out the word ‘Sputnik’ through bloodied teeth.

There is a heartbeat’s worth of silence, and then James crumples to the ground.

Darcy gapes at the goon; he’s laughing, breathing heavily and he holds up his rifle with a shaky hand.

Darcy doesn’t think- she lunges forwards, grips the muzzle of the gun and sends a good pulse of juice through it, straight into the guy’s body. He collapses again, dead to the world. She growls in annoyance and crouches down beside her not-so-friendly neighbourhood hobo.

“Crazy-Eyes?” she rolls him over and shakes at his shoulders. The one with the metal hand feels oddly hard and inflexible- far heavier than any limb has a right to be. Darcy has a good idea of exactly how far up that metal goes. “C’mon- _shit-_ James?”

He doesn’t respond and Darcy starts to get seriously worried. “ _James?_ ” she slaps his face, but James doesn’t so much as twitch. She’d give him a zap, but with that robot arm, there’s no telling how much damage she could do to him. “Fuck,” she murmurs, sitting back on her heels. She can’t just leave him here; not when he’s surrounded by half a dozen men who’d just tried to kidnap him. “You’re always gonna be a pain in my ass, aren’t you?”

There is no reply and Darcy sighs heavily, sparing a look at the heavens. The only thing she can think to do is take to take him back to hers; it’s the only way she can make sure he stays safe. “This will be fun.”

Silence from James, and Darcy tries very hard not to think about what’s been done to him so that he can be felled by a single word. She picks up his arms, grimacing at the weight of his metal limb, and struggles to manhandle him into place on her back. She grunts as his dead weight leans against her, staggering a little before righting herself and clutches at his arms hanging over her shoulders like some kind of Mysterious Hobo cape. “I tell you what, James,” she breathes, his body a long line of warmth along her back, “You’re lucky I’ve been practicing for this, ‘cause elsewise, this would be a whole lot more painful.”

She breathes in deeply, steeling herself, and jumps, flying upwards with a burst of energy that has her landing clumsily on the roof of the building beside her, James flopping to the ground in a loose flop of limbs and she winces. “Sorry about that, buddy,” she sighs, and heaves him up again. “ _Christ_. For a hobo you are _seriously_ heavy… and built.”

They move slowly from rooftop to rooftop as Darcy flies in short bursts, unwilling to fly higher or for longer with a passenger. By the time they finally get back to her apartment, she’s sweating furiously and her limbs are trembling with exertion. They land heavily on the metal fire escape and Darcy cringes at the sound, hoping desperately that she hasn’t woken anyone.

She stands up, grunting as she levers open her window enough to squeeze James through, and stoops to wrap her arms around his chest, manoeuvring him through the window arms first. “Fucking hell,” she curses when she hears the sound of something falling down inside, but she keeps going, feeling like an idiot as she feeds his lifeless body through her window. _God_ she hopes no one can see this.

Darcy could almost cry when she finally manages to get James inside and she can slip through the window herself. She winces at the awkward position he’s lying in and rolls him onto his back, hooking her arms under his and dragging him backwards, up and onto her slightly lumpy couch.

She breathes out heavily once she’s finished and collapses to the ground in front of him, letting her head fall forwards onto the armrest. “I swear to Thor, dude. You’d better not make me regret taking you here, because it I find out you’re into some hinky shit I will _end_ you.”

James is still out for the count and she sighs heavily, reaching up with a shaking hand to take his pulse. The beat beneath her fingers is slow and strong and she frowns at him. Darcy has no idea why he’s even still out. “How long are you gonna play the sleeping beauty act for man? ‘Cause I put my foot down at giving you a kiss,” she wrinkles her nose in distaste. “You kinda stink.”

It’s true; James smells of unwashed clothes, damp wool and sweat. Not a terribly surprising combination when Darcy highly doubts he ever bothered going to a shelter. It’s nice to know that he was at least telling the truth when he said he could handle the cold.

“Right,” Darcy breathes, and she hauls herself up off the ground. “I’m going to get changed. Don’t you move.” James complies and she moves off to her bedroom, unpinning her wig as she leaves him. She tucks the wig and her boots carefully back into her closet and peels herself out of her tights- on a whim, she’d sewn a few silver stars onto them about a week ago, and they seem to glow in the darkness of her room. She finds a pair of pyjama pants under her beg and slips them on, sighing happily at the feeling of the soft flannel on her legs. She continues systematically removing every trace of Astraea from her body, making sure to hide her clothes in her closet where no wandering eye can spot them before retreating to the bathroom and removing her mask and makeup. Darcy hears nothing from the living room, and when she returns, feeling clean but tired, she finds no evidence that James has so much as moved.

“You, my friend,” she tells him, moving to the kitchen to pull the milk from the fridge and start the kettle, “are a riddle, wrapped in a mystery.”

She returns to him while she waits for the water to boil. He looks far younger than she’d first though, now that he’s ‘asleep’, but it’s obvious he’s not been taking care of himself (what a shock). The rings beneath his eyes are so pronounced they look like bruises and his skin is sallow and unhealthy, his hair greasy and in desperate need of a cut. He’s still wearing that backpack of his, she realises, the strap clipped together across his chest. She chuckles softly at the observation.

“What happened to you, James?” she muses, and reaches forwards to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead, only to be stopped by a hand wrapping around her wrist. She yelps in surprise and stumbles backwards, tugging her hand back reflexively and James follows with it, rising off the sofa and backing Darcy into the wall. His hand wraps around her throat and Darcy goes very quiet and very still, breath catching somewhere in her chest as he effectively pins her to her wall.

His eyes clear and widen at the sight of her. “ _Darcy_?”

She smiles shakily, raising her free hand to give him a little wave and his hands fly away from her as though burned. He backs away as she breathes in deeply, closing her eyes to soothe her frayed nerves. “Hi James.”

“Darcy,” he breathes, and when she opens her eyes he looks stricken, guilt plastered clear-as-day across his face. “ _Darcy-_ what are you- what am I...” he looks around at her apartment, bewildered. “Where the hell am I?”

Darcy bites her lip as eases away from the wall. Distantly, she registers that the kettle has clicked off. “You’re in my apartment.”

“How did I get here?” and bless him, but he looks so conflicted- so remorseful- that she just wants to wrap him up in blankets and feed him an endless supply of hot chocolate.

The chocolate, at least, she can manage.

“What do you remember?” she asks carefully. James frowns down at his hands- metal and flesh. Darcy’s never seen anything like it.

“I was… there were men- Hydra. They tried to take me back, and then _she_ came, and I-” the line between his eyes grows more pronounced.

“And then what happened?”

James bites his lip and Darcy’s heart pangs in sympathy. “I don’t remember, but she was-” he breaks off and glances around her apartment, as though searching for something. “Where is she?”

“Where’s who?”

“ _Astraea_. The girl all those newspapers have been going on about.”

Darcy looks him straight in the eyes and says, “She dropped you off here.”

He scowls at her in confusion. “Why would she… why would she do that?”

Darcy moves to the kitchen and pulls out two mugs. It’s be easier to sell her lie whilst she’s distracted. “Astraea… is my sister,” she confesses. “She said she had to leave you there. Didn’t know where else to take you. So here you are,” she smiles up at him sheepishly. “Surprise!”

He stares at her, expression unreadable. Darcy’s grip tightens around her tin of hot chocolate. “You’re lying.”

She swallows, and looks down at the mugs, carefully measuring out a tablespoon of chocolate for each cup. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not,” she glances up at him, gaze defiant. “What could _you_ possibly do with that information?”

James’ shoulders slump. Darcy pours hot water into the cups to dissolve the powder, then tops both cups up with milk. “I won’t tell anyone.”

She hums and sticks the mugs in the microwave. The apartment fills with the loud hum of the appliance and Darcy watches James carefully. _He_ at least, looks to be telling the truth, and Darcy feels unnecessarily cruel, rubbing in his status like this. “Even if you did, who’d believe you?”

He smiles ruefully. “A dirty old hobo like me? No one, I’d imagine.”

She mirrors his expression, wishing she could go over and hug him, and pulls down a bottle from a shelf. Tonight is just one of those nights. “You want rum in yours?”

“My what?”

“Hot chocolate,” she sends him a bemused look. “What else did you think I was making?”

James scratches at his beard and shrugs. “I didn’t think you were making me anything.”

“But I am, and I don’t want all this milk to go to waste, so… do you want rum in yours or not?”

“Yes, please.”

Darcy smiles at him and taps her fingers on the bench as she watches the microwave timer tic over. She’s loathe to admit it, but it’s actually kind of thrilling to have someone know about her powers. “You should probably stay here the night,” she remarks as they wait. James glances back at her- he’d been studying the picture of Jane, Thor and Erik on her wall. “If those guys really are Hydra, I’d imagine they’d probably be searching for you right now.”

He smiles wryly. “Guess it’s a good thing Astraea moved me.”

“Mm. She’s thoughtful like that.”

She wanders over with the drinks when she’s done, and James takes his from her carefully, his fingers just barely touching hers. She sits down at one edge of the couch and James takes the other after a moment of hesitation. “So…” he starts, and Darcy waits patiently for him to continue. “What’s with you, anyway? How do your powers work?”

She smirks at him over the rim of her cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any powers.”

He sends her an unimpressed look. “Okay… how do _Astraea’s_ powers work?

“Pass- next question.”

James huffs, looking mildly frustrated. Darcy smiles at him sweetly. “Fine,” he growls. “What’s your deal? Why are you- why is _she_ doing this? What does she get out of this?”

Darcy shrugs and leans back. “Safer streets, maybe. A place where people can walk home without fearing a mugging or a rapist waiting around the corner for them… or maybe she just wants to do something _good_ with her powers. Does it really need to be that complicated?”

He studies her carefully, the fingers of his metal hand curling inwards. “I guess not,” he says eventually. He smiles bitterly. “I knew a guy like that before. He’d get himself hurt more often than not, but he’d always get back up,” his gaze turns pensive. “Used to admire him. Worry about him something fierce, too.”

Darcy doesn’t ask him what happened. It seems like sore subject. She takes a long sip from her hot chocolate instead, savouring the slight burn of the rum as it goes down. “I know people like that. More than a few, actually.”

He raises a brow. “And do they know about Astraea?”

“Fuck no,” she laughs and he snorts. “I doubt they’d approve even if they did.”

“And she still does it anyway, huh?”

“Well,” Darcy stares at her half-drunk hot chocolate, “it’s not like she got into the hero business for the approval.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “I guess not.”

She drains what’s left of the drink and stands, resting the cup on the coffee table and moving to fetch her ever-growing crate of blankets. She puts it down on the table beside her mug. James watches her, thoughtful. “You do that for a lot of them, don’t you?”

“I do,” she notes, pulling several carefully folded blankets from the crate. “My brother was homeless, did you know?” James shakes his head, like she was expecting a different answer. “Whilst _my_ X-gene manifested itself as something that could be hidden, Mitch wasn’t so lucky,” she spares him a twitch of the lips that’s more grimace than smile, straightening. The blanket in her hands feels inordinately heavy. “The school wouldn’t take him, tutors wouldn’t go near him even if we could afford them… Our parents kicked him out, he ended up on the streets.”

She breathes out slowly, unsure why she’s even telling James about Mitch. “I helped him as much as I could- bought him food, clothes… but I was just a kid. There wasn’t really much I could do… and one day, I showed up at his hideout and he was just… gone. No one knew what happened to him- it was like he’d disappeared off the face of the Earth. As far as I know, he’s dead.”

James stands and gently takes the throw from her, fingers brushing against hers. She glances away, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she lies, feigning nonchalance. “It’s old news now.”

“It still hurts to lose someone.”

“It does,” she agrees. She huffs a humourless laugh. “Maybe that’s why I do it. Try and do now what I couldn’t do then.”

“As reasons go, that’s better than many,” James notes and Darcy laughs again.

“I guess,” she takes a sharp step backwards, motioning to the blankets already set out. “You can stay here as long as you need. If Hydra’s after you it’s best to lie low for a while.”

“You don’t need to do this.”

Darcy frowns at him. “Of course I don’t… Something tells me you’re not your average homeless guy, and I'm guess you could probably take care of yourself,” he stares at her in surprise and maybe something close to approval. She shrugs. “But I’m offering anyway. You’ll be safe here, I promise.”

James stares down at the throw rugs on the table, looking torn. “This is the part where you say ‘thank-you, Darcy’,” she prompts and he sends her long-suffering look.

“Thank-you, Darcy,” he parrots nonetheless and she smiles at him.

“You’re welcome, James.” She yawns. “And on that note, I’m going to bed.” Darcy points to the blankets. “Feel free to use as many as you want. I’ll see you in the morning.” He doesn’t reply and Darcy takes it as her cue to leave. “Goodnight.”

“… Darcy.”

She lingers in the doorway. James is wringing his hands in the hem of the blanket he took from her, looking conflicted still. “Yeah?”

“You’re careful, right? You don’t go looking for trouble?”

“Hah!” she snickers, only half aware that the sound comes out bitter. “Only when it needs to be found. Normally the trouble finds me.”

He doesn’t look comforted, but he nods anyway. “Goodnight.”

Darcy retreats to her room, closing and locking the door behind her, and collapsing onto the bed without even trying to change her clothes. She’s exhausted, and the hot chocolate maybe didn’t help in that respect. Any doubt that she might stay away thinking about the man sleeping in the other room is quickly disproved, and she’s fast asleep in minutes. Her dreams are haunted by the image of Mitch; wandering the empty and ruined streets of New York, fantasy and reality mixing together for so long she hardly knows what’s real when she wakes.

The apartment is empty when Darcy hauls herself out of bed, the only sign of her late night guest the neatly folded blankets sitting on her coffee table. She wonders if he even bothered to sleep.

(He stole her bottle of rum, she finds out later. Though Darcy wonders if it’s really stealing when he leaves her a fifty-dollar bill and an apology note pinned beneath the tequila bottle still left sitting in her cupboard beside the fridge.)


	5. Falcon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a Spider, a Falcon and a woman with zappy hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with extra porn!
> 
>  
> 
> Seriously I didn't mean for this to happen, but it did and I'm not sorry. I spent three days writing up that goddamn porn, so I'd better not have any regrets.

Darcy sighs heavily just outside her door, and takes a moment to appreciate that’s she’s home. She’s been especially tired recently, run off her feet with the sudden influx of student papers that she needs to mark, and training no less than three new lab technicians in the Tower.

Later, it will be the exhaustion that she blames for not noticing Natasha until she’s almost on top of her.

“How long did you think you could keep this away from us?” she asks, and Darcy shrieks, dancing away from her couch where Natasha calmly sits, a silver wig lying on her lap.

Darcy’s silver wig; or, more to the point Astraea’s.

“Wh- what the hell are you doing here Nat?” she demands, the blatant invasion of her privacy putting her straight on the offensive. Natasha glares at her.

“I got suspicious,” she says and her hands tightens around the hair of Darcy’s wig. “I went looking for a reason as to why.”

Darcy swallows. That wig was hiding in the back of her closet; she explicitly remembers putting it there this morning. “So you went looking through my things? Who gave you the fucking right?”

Natasha’s eyes flash dangerously. “I have the right when it endangers the people I care about,” she growls, tossing the wig onto the couch and standing up.

“Have you been following me too?”

“I have. And imagine my surprise when I found what I’d been looking for.”

Darcy feels almost lightheaded. Scared and shaky, this is nothing like her conversation with James months ago. It hurts her more than she’d like to know that she hasn’t seen him since that night. More than anything she just hopes he’s okay. “What are you going to do about it?” she asks quietly, seeing no point to feigning ignorance with the superspy.

The corner of Natasha’s lips twitch, but otherwise her face remains unreadable. “What do you _want_ me to do about it?”

Darcy gapes, blindsided. “ _What?_ ”

“What do you want me to with about this, Darcy?”

“I don’t- I just…. _What?_ ”

Natasha rolls her eyes, and Darcy lets the older woman guide her to the couch in a daze. She collapses into the furniture ungracefully. “I’m not here to persecute you,” Natasha sits down beside her, placing Darcy’s wig on the headrest of the couch.

“You’re not?”

She shrugs. “Frankly, this is far better than I’d expected.”

“Then I don’t understand- are you going to tell the others? Oh God- please don’t- I didn’t mean to keep it a secret- not _really_ , but then Shield turned up and I couldn’t tell anyone without risking them taking me in, and then it turned out they were Hydra and I was terrified of saying anything at all and I was just- in too deep! And I kind of just fell into the whole hero thing and it just felt weird telling people and I don’t know- kind of inappropriate? I didn’t think you guys would really approve because- _hello_ \- vigilante justice isn’t maybe the favourite pastime of the Avengers and-”

“ _Darcy._ ” Natasha interrupts her word vomit, looking bemused. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Then I’m just _more_ confused! Why not?”

“Because it’s not my secret to tell,” she smiles at Darcy in understanding. “And as far as I’ve seen, you’ve not hurt anyone who’s not asked for pain.” The grin turns wry. “Not that I strictly _approve_ of you going out there alone… but it’s obvious that you know how to take care of yourself.”

“Okay… so what? Why confront me at all?”

She smirks. “I don’t care that you have powers, Darcy. If anything, it’s a comfort. But if you’re going to continue walking around the streets as Astraea, then I’m here to offer my services.”

“Well technically, I _fly_ around the streets.”

“Cheeky,” Natasha notes with narrowed eyes. “You know what I mean. But this is non-negotiable… If you don’t agree to let me help you, then I’ll tell Jane.”

Darcy’s jaw drops open in shock. “Are you… blackmailing me?”

She shrugs at Darcy, nonchalant. “Only because I love you.”

Darcy snorts in disbelief. “Is this what you call love, huh?”

“For the ones I care about, yes.”

“I see…” she trails off, staring at her hands. It’s oddly touching to be classified as such by Natasha Romanoff. She’s always so closed off; it’s unexpected, though it probably shouldn’t be. Natasha smirks at her

“So… a mutant, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Is this why you didn’t want to live in the Tower?”

She nods. “Too many eyes. Always watching. A girl’s gotta breathe.”

“Or spend her nights meting vigilante justice on the populace,” Natasha remarks dryly. Darcy grimaces.

“I’d prefer to think of it as pro bono protection details.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Call it what you want, it’s still vigilante justice. I’ve seen the reports; you keep yourself fairly low-profile- unlike _Daredevil_ \- but you’ve still picked up your fair share of enemies. Plenty of people who’d be happy to take you out, from what I hear.”

“They’re only small-fry. I can handle myself.”

“For now, sure. But what happens when the bigger fish start getting hungry?”

She sighs heavily. Rubs a hand over her face. She has a point and Darcy isn’t dumb enough to look a gift horse in the mouth… much. “Okay,” Darcy says eventually. “So say I agree. That’s good for me- I learn something a little more effective than a green belt in Krav Maga, so yay for me. But what about you? What do _you_ want out of this?”

Natasha glares at her. “What makes you think I want anything more than to know that my friend is safe?”

Darcy raises a doubtful brow. “Please Nat. We may be friends, but I’m not gullible enough- nor egotistical enough- to think that’s all you want from this. So what’s your angle?”

The glare disappears, replaced by that self-satisfied smirk of hers. “I knew we were friends for a reason,” she purrs. Darcy rolls her eyes. “I’m looking for someone.”

“And what? You want _my_ help? I’m not really that kind of superhero, Nat.”

“No,” she admits, “but you do have a rather impressive network with the homeless.”

She blanches, mildly affronted. “You’re after my _information_ network? You realise they’re not really informants, right? They’re just people- just like you or I.”

Natasha tilts her head in acquiescence. “And yet they see far more than people give them credit for. I need to know if they’ve seen someone, and you have a rapport when them that I don’t have.”

She chews on her lips. “There’s no guarantee they’d tell me anything, you realise. They can be a loyal bunch. What do you want with this guy?”

“He’s Steve’s friend,” she pulls a pair of folded pictures from the inner pocket of her jacket and hands it over. “Steve’s been looking for him ever since Shield fell. Rumour has it he’s been hanging around in New York, but the trail’s gone cold.”

Darcy unfolds the photographs and sucks in a sharp breath, eyes widening. _What the fuck?_ she mouths to herself and Natasha stiffens beside her, catching her surprise.

“ _Darcy_ ,” she says lowly. “You recognise him?”

She bites her lip, staring at the two pictures in a muted state of shock. One of them is a sepia photograph of a young man in uniform, rakish smile directed straight at the camera. The other, the same man, his face blurry and slightly indistinct, but still unmistakably him. Beard and all. It looks like it’s been pulled straight from a CCTV camera. “It’s James-”

“ _James?_ You’ve talked to him?”

She nods slowly, tracing the clean line of his jaw in the sepia photo with a finger that trembles. “I’ve met him a few times… saved his ass a couple of times. But Natasha… is- is he really who I think he is?”

Natasha studies her closely, gaze intent. “His name is James Barnes, and he was born in 1917, best-”

“Best friend of Steve Rogers. Yeah, I know the story,” she sighs, dropping the pictures into her lap and leaning back into the couch. She rolls her head to the side to stare and Natasha. “What I don’t understand is how he can be _James_. The guy died in the forties. Everyone knows that.”

“Surprise!” Natasha says dryly, wiggling her eyebrows. Darcy snorts and rolls her eyes. “It’s not really my place to tell, but it’s been months since we last saw him, and Steve’s getting restless.”

“Not a good state of mind for him.”

“No,” Natasha sighs, getting up from the couch to raid Darcy’s fridge. She hums in satisfaction and pulls out a bottle of wine that Darcy bought only yesterday. “A restless Steve likes fast bikes and games like Russian roulette. It’s very annoying trying to keep him alive.”

Darcy effectively chokes on nothing. “That is… _not_ what I expect of a bored Captain America.”

Natasha shrugs, somehow knowing exactly which shelf to pluck two of Darcy’s wineglasses from. “I’ll admit, I found it unexpected too. But… ‘James’, Darcy,” she grimaces at the use of his first name, as though unused to saying it. “Any information you could give would be invaluable.”

Darcy sighs heavily. “There’s not much to tell. I haven’t seen him for months… not since… well, not since those Hydra guys.”

“Hydra?” Natasha says sharply, visibly startled. “What about Hydra? When was this?”

She shrugs, adjusting herself on the couch into a more comfortably position. “The last I saw him was in December. These goons wanted to take him in, but I couldn’t see any markings on their uniforms so I- well, we- took them out.”

Natasha closes her eyes for a long moment, before opening them again and very carefully and very slowly pours a glass of wine for each of them, being quite generous with the pouring. “Tell me everything,” she orders.

So Darcy does.

 

* * *

 

In the month immediately following Natasha’s discovery, Darcy barely touches the streets. Almost all of her free time is spent sparring and training with Natasha- and occasionally Clint. For the time being, Natasha is still the only one who knows about her powers, and the times when it’s just her and the redhead, hidden away in some empty hole-in-the-wall boxing gym late at night, are the times she enjoys the most. For the most part Natasha lets her use her powers when they spar (not that it means much when it’s near impossible to land a hit on the woman), and they make full use of the space late into the night, the two of them the only ones in the entire building.

It’s hard, and it’s gruelling and more often than not, she hates Natasha more than life itself, but deep down she knows it’s worth it. Darcy progresses quickly- or at least quicker than she’d expected. Four weeks in and Natasha says she’s proud of her and Darcy just about damn near swoons. Not that it means much when the very next day, Nat disappears on some covert mission with Steve again- she’s not certain what it’s about, but if she were a betting gal, her money would be on Steve’s never-ending search for James. Then again, neither Natasha nor Darcy have heard hide nor hair of him since Natasha came to her for help.

She takes the opportunity as it comes, donning her costume and carefully fixing her wig into place with a giddy sense of excitement. The itch to go back onto the streets has been so strong it’s be driving her half mad, but between Natasha’s lessons and her two jobs, Darcy’s been hard-pressed to find the time to get out. But tonight is her night, and she’ll be damned if she lets the chance slip through her fingers.

She slips out of her apartment at midnight, feeling kind of like a reverse-Cinderella, and starts her rounds, floating through the skies with an invigorating sense of confidence that she should probably curb at some point. She grins as she passes around on sluggish air-currents, keeping an eye and an ear out for any trouble.

It doesn’t take her long to find some.

“I said _leave me alone!_ ” a man snarls from an alley Darcy just so happens to be passing over.

“C’mon man, don’t be like that,” another man complains. She lowers herself down into the shadows of one of the buildings, watching the goings on curiously. “I just wanna talk!”

“No you don’t!” the other guy hisses, every line of his body screaming ‘cornered’. Darcy swallows back her excitement; it may have been a while, but she’s not dumb enough to throw herself into a situation without taking stock. “You want to take me back! Back to _him_!”

Both of the men are wearing hooded jackets, but there’s something about the defensive guy’s voice that is familiar. She frowns, trying to remember.

“It’s okay, man,” the other tries to sooth, but the guy’s having none of it.

“I _don’t want to_!” he growls, and the recognition clicks in her mind- that husky sound that’s both familiar and foreign. “Why can’t you fucking realise that? I don’t want to be found!”

 _James_.

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

“Other parties have started looking for you! You’re not safe anymore! If I gotta take you in by force, I will,” the other man pleads, and then he’s reaching inside his jacket for something that Darcy has a _very_ bad feeling about. “Don’t make me do this.”

Darcy’s had enough. “ _Dude_ ,” she says harshly, floating down between the two men. James’ assailant yelps in surprise, eyes widening. Darcy bares her teeth at him in disgust as she spies the gun in his hand. “Seriously man, take no for an answer.”

“Wha- who the hell are you?” the man gapes.

“Oh, you know. Just some random passer-by,” she glances down at the weapon pointedly. “Now put the gun away or I will.”

He squints at her, taking her in. Darcy knows that in a bright enough light her costume looks a little silly, but she’s confident she still rocks the getup. “Are you- oh my God are you a _superhero?_ ” he laughs in disbelief, and Darcy’s eyes narrow dangerously. “How is this my life?”

“Clear off, buddy,” she says lowly, and lets a thread of electricity pass though her fingers.

“Whoa,” he says, eyes widening at the sight as he takes it for the threat it is. Wisely, he puts the gun away and Darcy relaxes minutely. “I just…” he trails off, gaze more assessing this time as he takes her in. Darcy doesn’t flinch at the scrutiny. “Sometimes I forget how weird my life’s got, ya know?”

Darcy raises a brow and he smiles self-depreciatingly. “If you think I’m weird dude, you should see the fucking Avengers.”

He laughs, a little hysterically, and takes a step back from her. Darcy approves. “There are literally no words for this.”  Her eyes narrow again and the man puts his hands up, placating. He spares a glance heavenward. “You know, I’m meant to be one of the good guys too,” he sighs.

“Ah-huh,” Darcy says in disbelief, and the man glances past her to look pleadingly at James.

“Could you at least help me out here?”

Silence from James. Darcy smiles at the man sweetly. The man blanches. “Looks like he doesn’t agree. If you could kindly leave, please and thank-you.”

He sighs heavily, the line of his shoulders slumping in defeat. Darcy makes a shooing motion with one of her hands. The man scowls. “Alright- _fine!_ I’m leaving!” to demonstrate, he takes another few steps away from them. He points at James behind her. “When you’re ready, you know where to find me,” he adds in as a final passing quip. “Steve misses you.”

Darcy’s eyes widen in shock, but the man’s already turned around and cleared out, walking away from them as quickly as he can.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” James says as soon as he’s out of sight. Darcy spins around. He’s smirking at her, looking far more put-together than Darcy remembers him being. Even his beard- shorter than she remembers- looks like it’s been taken care of, and his hair is pulled back in a messy bun that Darcy is loathe to admit she finds _extremely_ attractive.

He’s still wearing his backpack.

“Was that- oh my God- was that _the Falcon?_ ” Darcy gapes at him, panicking somewhat. “Oh my God, was I just about to knock out the Falcon?”

James frowns at her, his smirk- tragically- faltering. “Hello to you too, Da- _Astraea._ ”

“What the hell, James? You could have said something!”

He shrugs, a little defensive by Darcy’s standing. “He was annoying me.”

Darcy grimaces, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. “I can’t believe this,” she moans, stumbling away from James as she regrets her life choices. “Oh my God, what the fuck _even_. How is this my life?” she groans, mirroring the man who she now realises must have been Sam Wilson. “I just threatened a superhero.”

“ _You’re_ a superhero.”

“Oh please, I’m barely even a hero, let alone a _super_. Isn’t there like, some kind of superhero code? ‘Thou shalt not threaten another of your kin’ or something?”

James stares at her in bemusement. “You fly around and zap people with your hands. That sounds pretty super to me.”

Darcy closes her eyes, breathing in slowly to calm herself before this gets out of hand. It’s okay. She can confess this all to Natasha when she comes back. Maybe apologise to Wilson, if she ever meets him again. Hopefully, one day, they’ll all laugh about it. Or better yet, Darcy can pretend it never even happened.

“Okay,” she says after a time. “Alright. Sorry James, _hi_. I just- got momentarily caught up in the panic.”

“You good now?” he drawls, raising an amused eyebrow. And _seriously_ , whatever he’s been doing the last couple of months must have been helping, because he looks _fine_. She swallows, almost nervous in his presence.

“I am,” she smiles at him. “Where have you been, James? I mean, you left- which I kind of expected, but I never saw you again.”

He returns the smile, somewhat sheepish-looking, before it shrinks into something more solemn. There’s something close to regret in his eyes. “I couldn’t stay. Not with Hydra still on my tail. I needed to disappear,” he says lowly, eyes roving over her as though drinking her in. He licks his lips and something in Darcy sings.

She shrugs, playing it cool. “I figured. I guess I just kind of figured you’d pop up again sooner rather than later.”

His lips twitch. “Have you been working out?”

Darcy puffs her chest out in pride. “I have. A friend offered to train me.”

He smirks, nodding in approval. “You look good.”

“So do you. You’re rocking the man bun, by the way.”

His hand rises up to touch his hair self-consciously. He’s wearing the scarf Darcy gave him all those months ago, though his gloves are different- leather, well taken care of. “Thanks.”

Darcy glances away at a dumpster and sighs; her breath mists up in her face. “I should- ah… I should probably go,” she smiles at him self-depreciatingly when the oddly shy and hopeful look on his face falls. “Crime isn’t gonna fight itself.”

“Ah,” James says eloquently. “You’re right- you should probably-”

“Yeah.” She cringes at the awkward turn of their conversation. She bites her lip, looking up at him from beneath her lashes and his jaw clenches. “Meet you back at mine?”

James’ eyes widen in surprise at the offer. “Yes,” he says, maybe a little too quickly if his following wince is any indicator. She smiles. “I- uh- I mean, yeah, okay sure.”

“I’ll probably be a few hours.”

“That’s- uh- that’s okay. I can wait.”

“There’s plenty of books and movies, if you want.”

James nods at her, his metal hand clenching slightly. “It’s okay. I can entertain myself.”

She laughs, stepping away from him. “I’m sure you know how to get there, too.”

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m sure I can work it out.”

Darcy bites her lip, holding back a broad smile. “Okay… then I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“I guess so… and Astraea?”

“Mmm?”

“Stay safe.”

Darcy grins at him, all teeth. “Always.” She turns away from him, flashing him another smile and a wink over her shoulder before jumping up and flying away.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, staying out on the streets for longer than an hour is easier said than done when Darcy knows that James is (hopefully) back at her apartment. The night drags, minutes seeming to pass like hours, driving Darcy half-mad with impatience. All she can think about- even as she discourages potential muggers and shadows several woman home (two of whom drunkenly try to hit on her… she may have asked one to stop in a convenience store to buy her a pack of condoms, just for luck)- is the man waiting for her back home. She imagines him running a hand over the spines of her books, or sprawled across her couch, flicking through Netflix, the picture of sullen boredom.

 _It’s stupid_ , she reminds herself as she checks her watch for the umpteenth time. James is an amnesiac assassin on the run from the good guys and the bad. The last thing on his mind is getting it on with a girl he barely knows.

And yet.

Her mind runs on loop the image of him licking his lips. The heat in his eyes when gave her a casual once over. The twitch to muscles in his temple as he clenched his jaw and the curl of his fingers. Darcy knows the signs of an interested man. And James _is_ interested. Interested enough to go back to-

No.

Darcy tries to distract herself with thought of whatever trip Natasha and Steve must be on. She’d thought they were going after James, but if Wilson was cornering him in an empty street in Brooklyn then she finds it highly unlikely that they’d not be there with him. It could of course be some Avengers thing, but as far as she knows, Tony and Bruce are still safely ensconced in the Tower. Then again, it’s not as if that’s a reason for it _not_ to be an Avengers thing.

Darcy finally calls it quits at around three-thirty. Most of the streets she passes over are empty, and she’d give anything right now to get back and wrap herself up in her electric blanket, fingers frozen stiff. The flight back to her apartment is wracked with nervous excitement, and when she lands on the fire escape outside her window, she’s not sure if her hands are shaking from excitement or the cold. It’s possible (read: likely) that it’s both.

She almost screams when the window opens- a quiet _shhk_ as it rises smoothly. “ _Jesus_ ,” she hisses at James, shooing him out of the way so she can get inside. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” he answers lowly, not sounding it in the least. Darcy huffs and sticks her torso through the window, manoeuvring herself awkwardly through the tight space. She emerging, red-face but victorious, inside her apartment and James thoughtfully closes it behind her. Her apartment is dimly lit by the desk lamp balanced rather precariously on the head of her couch, a book lying open- spine facing upwards- on her coffee table.

“Thanks,” she huffs, righting herself and tugging closed the curtains. She hums in satisfaction as she moves over to her kitchenette, tugging off her wig as she goes. She dumps it on the counter and pulls off the headband and hairclips, sighing heavily in relief at the sudden release of pressure on her head.

“How was your night?” James asks, and Darcy starts a little as she realises how close he is. She turns around, and bites her lip at the sharp, almost predatory look in his eyes. She pulls her hair out of their braids and watches- a little smugly- as his eyes darken at the tumble of her hair, free now from its confines.

“Uneventful,” she hums, and- because she is _awful_ and because she fucking _can_ \- licks at the corner of her mouth. James’ eyes narrow in a delightfully dangerous way, breath coming out in a strong huff.

“Fuck this,” he growls, and crowds her up against her refrigerator, his flesh hand cupping her jaw and guiding her mouth up to his. Darcy’s gut swoops when their lips touch; a fevered press of skin on skin that makes her toes curl in pleasure as his tongue runs across her lips. Darcy opens her mouth and James takes it for the invitation it is. His tongue runs across her lips and Darcy whimpers into the kiss- a soft sound at the back of her throat. She takes the opportunity to grab a generous handful of his ass, tugging him closer.

James growls at the contact, his hands leaving her momentarily to effortlessly hitch her legs up around his waist. His hands dig into the fleshy parts of her thighs, the tips of his fingers just brushing against the curve of her ass. Darcy whimpers again and arches her body into his, chest to chest. James seems the kind to put his whole body into the kiss, and the effortless force of him steals her breath right out of her chest. Darcy’s never kissed a man who kisses like James before.

“I’ve wanted to do that for _months,_ ” he hums against her mouth. The soft rasp of his voice sends shivers down her spine and the _heat_ of him has her closing her eyes with pleasure. “The first time you came down- _fuck_ \- like an avenging angel, you just knocked that idiot out like he was nothing. Most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

“You know how to charm a girl,” Darcy grins and tightens her grip around his waist.

He laughs breathily. “Don’t know much about charm anymore, but it’s the truth.” 

Darcy hums happily. With this leverage she’s the perfect height to wrap her fingers through his hair and tug his head back, latching her mouth to the tendons of his neck and sucking a bruise into the delicate skin. James breathes out slowly through his nose and the grip on her thighs tightens for a moment. She moves on, kissing a trail down his neck. He smells like warm skin and something faintly spicy and Darcy briefly wonders what he’s been doing with himself before he groans and steals her attention by returning his hand to her hair and pulling her back up to his mouth.

This time the kiss is hot and dirty, and their tongues fight for dominance **-** though Darcy’s is really only a token protest. Her world narrows down to the hot press of his lips against hers and the soft pressure of his wandering hands, curving up beneath her top and resting over her ribs. James groans into her mouth when she grinds herself down against him, her boots digging into the back of his thighs.

“ _Fuck_ , doll,” he murmurs, tugging her head to the side to lave an open-mouthed kiss to her jaw. Darcy shudders at the unexpected nip of teeth- a faint spark of pain that muddles in with her arousal in a delightful way. “You could kill a man with thighs like those.”

She sniggers- or tries to, the sound cutting off halfway when the fingers of his flesh hand creep higher, thumb rubbing over her nipple through the sturdy fabric of her bra with unerring accuracy. He does it again and Darcy makes another cut off sound. “That’s that the- _ah_ \- what the training’s for!” she gasps. His mouth travels further south, body curling over her possessively. Darcy revels in the faint tickling scratch of his beard on the sensitive skin of her collarbone. “You should see my ass. It looks fucking fantastic.”

James stops abruptly and Darcy almost whimpers in disappointment when his mouth leaves her skin so he can look at her. His eyes are dark- almost black- and there’s a feral curl to his mouth. “Shouldn’t say things like that, Darcy,” he rumbles, and she yelps when he moves away from the fridge, hands leaving her torso to support her before he dumps her unceremoniously on her kitchen counter. He smiles at her, and Darcy’s blood sings at the wicked twist of his lips. “Not if you can’t back it up.”

She grins and leans against her arms. She tilts her head in challenge. “Who said I couldn’t back it up?” she says archly, and she pulls him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him. James chuckles, and Darcy squeezes her legs around him a little tighter in approval as his hands curve up to push her jacket off her shoulders. She shuffles her arms to let the clothing slide off the rest of the way and James pushes it off the counter. It lands with a soft _thwump_ on the floor, quickly followed by Darcy’s shirt and James’ own jacket.

Darcy sucks in a sharp breath at the sudden exposure, and James cups the back of her neck with a firm pressure, fingers intertwined with her hair that feels luxuriantly soft across the bare skin of her back. He studies her for a long moment, the frenzy of before put on pause as James runs the thumb of his metal hand over her lips ever-so-gently. It’s reverential, the way he traces the lines of her face, the look on his dark and thoughtful and Darcy’s breath catches in her throat as his hand trails down further, passing lightly across the seam of her sports bra.

“James…” she starts, but she doesn’t know what she wants to say. Maybe she just wanted to say his name.

“Darcy,” he answers with a wry twist of the lips. His hands travel down over her shoulders, nimble fingers undoing her bra with little struggle. The relief at the sudden release of pressure from the undergarment lasts only a fraction of a second, replaced by an uncharacteristic nervousness as he pulls it off, throwing it down to join the rest of their clothes. It’s all well and good in the heat of the moment, but the unexpected gentleness is almost startling in its intensity; different from the fevered touches, but one that ties her stomach up in knots all the same as he cups her breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers almost contemplatively. His gaze is thoughtful but focussed as he works on eliciting more sounds from her.

Darcy downright moans when wet heat envelops her sensitised nipple and her hips twitch, inadvertently rubbing her core against his growing interest. She moans again, grinding herself against him deliberately this time, and the pressure sends shivers running up and down her legs. The goosebumps forming on her skin are from the cold and pleasure. James growls and releases her nipple with a wet _pop_. He pushes down with a commanding hand on her shoulder and Darcy gasps at the shock of the cold melamine on her back.

She props herself up on her shoulders instead, admiring how James looks between her legs as he pulls her tights and underwear down her hips. He scowls when he realises that Darcy still has her legs wrapped around his waist and she giggles, giving him one last hedonistic grind before letting them fall open on either side of him.

James makes quick work of the rest of her clothes, the hurdle of her boots only a momentary complication in his single-minded mission to get her naked. He stops when he finally manages it- her clothes lying in heaps around them- and stares at her as though surprised to see her, spread out before him in her birthday suit.

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I know I look good, but staring is rude, James.” He flushes, and Darcy gapes at him in surprise (and pleasure). “James,” she breathes in awe, sitting up and holding his face between her hands. His skin feels hot. “ _James_ , are you _blushing?_ ”

He glares at her, the red of his cheeks growing deeper and Darcy grins at him in delight. “ _You’re_ blushing,” he grumbles, gaze glancing over to the side. Darcy coos at him and squashes his cheeks together, for the moment uncaring that she’s naked. Almost against his will, he laughs- a dry chuckle that cuts off when he leans into her, kissing her hard enough that her breath catches in her throat. She cries out when a hand sneaks down between her legs, stroking gently into her aching heat.

“Sn- _ah_ \- sneaky!” she stutters. Two of his fingers stroke her inner labia, spreading the slick gathered there. His thumb flicks across her clit and Darcy yelps, the sound of her voice unnervingly lough in her small apartment. It peters off into a moan when his finger slides easily inside her and Darcy breathes out slowly at the slight stretch. He starts to stroke her in earnest; the movements a little choppy and awkward at first, but he seems to quickly get the hang of it. Darcy wonders if it’s muscle memory, or if he’s just naturally good. She feels lazily content- or a moment at least, before James slips another finger inside her.

“ _Harder_ ,” Darcy breathes at the delicious stretch and the faint burn, and James complies with enthusiasm, fingers working at her with a rhythm that slowly builds, and the sounds escaping her mouth seems to blur into one drawn-out moan, broken intermittently by hitching sighs and breathless whimpers. When her orgasm finally hits, it crashes over her in a strong wave, rendering her mute as the pleasure washes over her, hips twitching up into his hand against her will.

“Holy shit,” she says eloquently when the intensity dies down. James raises an amused eyebrow at her and withdraws his fingers, but not without a passing touch to her clit and Darcy makes a high pitched sound at the back of her throat. She glares at him and tugs him in for a heated kiss, uncaring when he touches her with his slick-smeared fingers. “There’s condoms in my jacket,” she tells him imperiously, as soon as her breathing returns to normal.

James snorts and pulls away from her. Darcy momentarily regrets the loss of his body heat, pussy clenching at the absence of his fingers, and she shivers at the cold air hitting her exposed thighs. He’s back soon enough, holding out the entire strip on condoms he’d fished from the inner pocket of her jacket. “Got enough?”

Darcy grins at him, unapologetic. “It pays to be prepared.”

He shrugs. “Guess I can’t fault that reasoning.”

She hums and reels him back in for a kiss, hands fumbling with his belt and the clasps of his pants, laughing against his mouth when she succeeds. James rolls her nipples between his fingers in retaliation and Darcy gasps, the foreign sensation of his left hand causing her to bite his lip. James groans and does it again and she snatches the discarded condoms from the bench beside her, tearing off a packet and ripping into the foil wrapper with maybe a little more enthusiasm than she needs.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he grunts when she reaches into his underwear and pulls out his cock. Darcy hums happily at the feeling of silken heat beneath her fingers and she gives him an appreciative stoke or three and James gasps when she squeezes at the head. “ _Jesus_ , doll,” he breathes, mouth travelling down to nip and suck at the sensitive skin behind her ear, “you’ll be the fucking death of me.”

Darcy snickers at him mercilessly and rolls the condom down onto his cock. “Well I can certainly _try_ ,” she remarks dryly, and her head rolls back as James guides himself back between her legs and pushes himself slowly inside her. “Haaahn, _shit yes_ ,” she hisses at the slow stretch. He’s the perfect size- a little above average, and _thick_ , and the pain is a delicious burn that has her toes curling and her head tilting back as she accommodates him.

James waits for her with the patience of a saint, and it’s not long before Darcy is wrapping her legs back around him and urging him to move. He does, and Darcy keens at the sensation of his cock rubbing against her g-spot. She props herself up a little better by her arm as he starts thrusting inside her, the perfect model as he follows her gasped instructions of ‘harder’ and ‘faster’ and ‘slow down’ without question. She plays with her clit with her free hand, the sounds escaping her mouth growing louder, mixing with the soft rustle of James’ clothes and his breathy moans and the filthy slap of skin on skin.

He moves inside her for what seems like an age and Darcy revels at the feel of him and the dry rasp of his beard across her skin, hands clutching at her as though she’s the only thing holding him to the Earth. She presses harder on her clit as his thrusting seems to grow more erratic, his breathing turning thready.

She comes before him; a heady release, like a bubble being burst inside her, leaving her boneless and pliant on the kitchen bench. James groans as Darcy spasms around him and she clenches her inner muscles as he seeks his own pleasure, thrusts growing harder. He’s quiet when he comes, body curled over her as though trying to hide her from the world, eyes scrunching closed as he breathes out slowly.

Darcy smiles up at him, feeling smug and sated. It’s been a while since she’s had a good lay. She closes her eyes, stretching on the bench languidly and James groans as she clenches around him again.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling out her slowly. Darcy hums and grins at him lazily, before frowning.

“I can’t think of anything witty to say.”

James laughs in surprise, pausing halfway through the motion of removing the condom to look at her. “Sounds serious.”

“It is,” she sighs, staring up at her ceiling woefully. “I think you fucked all the wit right out of me… Bin’s under the sink, by the way.”

James huffs a laugh. “Thanks. And uh- you’re welcome, I guess.”

Darcy rolls her head to the side, and grins at what she sees. “You know…”

James runs a hand up the side of her body reverentially, cupping her breast and brushing his thumb lightly over her nipple. She shivers. “What?”

“Well,” she murmurs, looking up at him from the corner of her eye. “I was just thinking… I bought a lot of condoms.”

He rolls his eyes. “Be a shame if those went to waste.”

“It would be,” she grins, and pulls him down to her to press a kiss to his lips.


	6. Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMFG YOU GUYS I FINALLY FINISHED THIS CHAPTER  
> AND LOOK, NOW IT'S A SERIES ~yayy~  
> YOU'RE WELCOME  
> (also, can we please take a moment to appreciate that I've actually FINISHED something? Because I feel like we should. Yay for me XD)

Darcy wakes to an empty bed and the muted groan of her waterpipes.

She smiles, eyes closed, and stretches languidly in her bed, relishing the full ache between her thighs and muscles; the best remnants of a good fuck.

She rolls onto her front, laying spread-eagled across the bed. The space beside her is cold, but the shower running is a good sign. An even better sign when the hammer _thuds_ and the shower stops, but somewhere in between she must doze off because the next thing she knows, James is gently shaking her shoulder and rolling her over.

“Darcy,” he says softly, warmth in his gaze.

“Mmm,” she hums, squinting up at him. “Morning.”

He huffs a laugh when she wraps a hand around his neck and drags him down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Morning,” he echoes, smiling at her. The heat in his gaze makes her stomach flop. His breath smells like mint toothpaste and Darcy hopes he found one of the spare toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet.

“You sleep okay?”

He laughs again- throaty and heartfelt- and Darcy is struck by the thought that this is the first time she’s heard him laugh genuinely. He kisses her again, just as chaste and lovely as the last time, and something in her melts.

“What little sleep we did get, yes,” he murmurs, stubbled mouth trailing away from her lips and down her neck, sending delicious shivers up and down her spine. “Mm,” he hums, and Darcy gasps when he sucks a lovebite onto the skin just above her clavicle. “I was going to tell you breakfast is ready, but I think I’d rather just have you.”

Darcy moans; partly in pain at the terrible line, and partly at his hands that wander lower, clever fingers plucking at her breasts and she squirms into his touch. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Panca- ah _hey!_ ” James exclaims, sounding affronted, but Darcy is halfway off the bed, the hot ache between her legs already a forgotten memory.

“We can have sex anytime,” she tells him seriously, seeking something suitable from the pile of clothes on her floor. James glares at her from where she pushed him off the bed. “Pancakes are only good for a short window of time.”

“I could have made more,” he grouses, picking himself up off the floor. Darcy ignores him, crowing in delight when she finds the dress she’d been looking for.

“But you made perfectly good ones _now_. I’m not a _heathen_ ; sex can wait.” James grumbles good-naturedly, and Darcy reels him in for another kiss, though she pushes away before it can grow too heated. “Now c’mon Crazy-Eyes. There are pancakes to be eaten.”

James rolls his eyes, but lets Darcy drag him into the living room all the same, and she moans with delight at the sight of the triple stack pancakes, maple syrup and bacon that she knows for a fact was not in the fridge last night. She must have been asleep for longer than expected.

“You, James, are an absolute _gift_ ,” she sighs happily, and steals both plates from the kitchen bench to move them over to the coffee table.

“Does that mean you’ll keep me?” he asks, and Darcy thinks he might have been going for joking, but he comes across more uncertain than anything. The tone of his voice makes her pause, turning to look at him carefully.

“Do you… _want_ me to?”

He shrugs, turning almost shy as he somehow manages to look up at her through his lashes, despite being half a head taller. “It’s up to you, I guess,” he smiles softly, look of his face turning rakish. “Whatdaya say, doll? You wanna go steady with me?”

“I guess it depends.”

His face falls and Darcy immediately feels bad for teasing him. “On what?”

“On how good these pancakes are. Now c’mon, before you miss the window of perfect pancakes.”

James breathes out slowly in relief and joins her on the couch. He watches her carefully as she cuts a wedge of pancake, and Darcy makes a mental note to remember that he may take things a little too literally (though breakfast _is_ an important element in boyfriend material, she has to admit), and is sure to make loud sounds of pleasure at the first bite. They’re good, and it’s not hard at all to show her approval. Darcy pulls him in for a maple-soaked kiss and James replies with enthusiasm, though he lets her push him away easily enough. Pancakes, she reminds herself. _Pancakes_.

“Of course I’ll go steady with you, James,” she tells him, retrieving her cutlery and tucking into her meal. “Now you’d better eat, because after this I’d really like to suck your dick.”

Never has Darcy seen a man inhale pancakes at a speed that could rival Thor, but James could certainly give him a run for his money.

* * *

James leaves late that afternoon, with a sheepish look at her floor, littered with empty condom wrappers. Darcy doesn’t much care- though her room might start smelling like a brothel if she doesn’t open a window soon.

The apartment feels emptier without him, and Darcy feels oddly _lonely_ now, the space in the bed beside her growing cold. She sighs heavily at the thought and rolls out of bed, breathing out heavily as the ache between her thighs intensifies; like a deep muscle bruising- visceral proof of James’ presence. She moves around her apartment with less enthusiasm than usual, already wishing he was back; she feels lost, and some distant part of her worries that maybe this… _thing_ between them is moving way too fast. Darcy pushes the thought away; life is too short to be caught up in how things could turn sour between them.

James had promised to come back Monday afternoon, and Darcy tries to pass the time watching Netflix, but mostly just succeeds in sending herself to sleep. She wakes to a darkened apartment, the ‘Are you still watching?’ screen still up on her television screen. The digital clock on her dvd player tells her it’s close to eight, and Darcy rolls herself off the couch with a groan. She stumbles over to the kitchenette, pouring herself a glass of water and putting the kettle onto boil.

Mac and cheese may not be the dinner of champions (nor superheroes), but when it comes to cooking for herself, Darcy finds that she often can’t be bothered making anything fancier. She reasons that at least she’s making it from ‘scratch’, and she putters around her shitty kitchen as music blares from her stereo. The leftover bacon James bought goes in too, and by the time she’s finished, Darcy feels more human.

She eats slowly, lounging on the sofa and trying hard not to think about the things they’d been doing on it less than ten hours before. Darcy has a few hours yet before she will go on her rounds, and in the meantime, she sets her focus on marking student essays, fiercely Not Thinking about James.

She doesn’t really know what she’s doing, she’ll be the first to admit, but Darcy likes James and so sue her, it’s been a long time since her last relationship and she’d always been kinda reluctant to start a new one with someone who either couldn’t protect themselves, or didn’t know who she really was. James is honestly the best of both worlds (and yes. Okay. The sex is fucking _fabulous_ ).

Eventually, Darcy decides it’s late enough to put on her costume. She gets ready quickly, shimmying into her getup, slapping on some dark lipstick and carefully attaching her wig. She’s crawling out her window by 10:30, the sky above glowing an eerie orange from the city lights reflected on the low clouds.

The night is quiet- unusually so- and Darcy wonders if New York is still trapped in the eye of the storm, or if the increase in ‘vigilantes’ has made crime less appealing. The stillness makes her edgy, like an itch beneath her skin that burns for a fight. It’s almost a relief to hear the high-pitched scream of a woman sometime just after midnight. Darcy is on it in a heartbeat, zipping through the air as she seeks out the source of the scream.

She finds them in a darkened alley; a hooded man cornering a young woman, his body language threatening, and Darcy sucks in a breath at the sight of the long and jagged hunting knife in his hand. She brings herself down, clinging to the shadows, and breathes in deeply. Neither have noticed her yet.

“No- please!” the woman begs tearfully, clutching her handbag to her chest. The man just laughs at her and Darcy lets energy fizzle through her as she steps forward.

“Didn’t your momma ever tell you that no means no?” she growls at him, eyes flashing.

The man doesn’t so much as flinch at her entrance, and Darcy’s hackles go up at the lack of reaction. The woman’s face morphs from terrified to smug, and Darcy realises that this time she may have bitten off more than she can chew.

“Found you,” the woman purrs, smiling, and Darcy turns to flee- she knows when to pick her battles- but the woman is too quick and out of the corner of Darcy’s eye she catches the flash of something metal and a hot pain lances out from her shoulder. She cries out, stumbling forwards and pitching over as the paralytic moves quickly through her limbs.

She groans. Tries to find that well of power-

Fails.

Despairs.

Distantly, Darcy hears heavy boots on pavement, drawing closer. She makes a futile attempt to roll over but her body feels so _detached_ , like she’s not really inhabiting it anymore, neurons somehow missing their marks.

The woman laughs, and a heavy boot rolls her over. It seems to take all of her energy to move her gaze onto her, and she smiles down at Darcy. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I was almost convinced that wouldn’t work,” she tells Darcy; her voice faintly accented. The man joins her. “But it turns out Claude was right about that soft spot of yours towards women.”  

She crouches down beside Darcy, holding a long strip of what looks like rubber in her hands. The woman lifts Darcy’s head up- the touch of her cold fingers makes Darcy’s skin crawl- and with an efficient snap, the strip of rubber wraps snugly around her neck. There is a moment’s pause, then a soft _beep_ and a sharp sting as something bites into her skin. Satisfied with her handiwork, the woman glances over at Claude, whose face is broad and inexpressive. He’s built like a brick shithouse, towering above the two of them, arms and neck thick with muscle. “Get her in the van. They want her before sunrise.”

Claude says nothing and bends down, scooping Darcy up and slinging her over his shoulder like a loose sack of potatoes. Darcy keeps her eyes open, ruthlessly suppressing her panic.

This is beyond her realm of comprehension; she’s never even _contemplated_ the possibility of being kidnapped right off the street. Her powers have always been there for her, and _God fucking dammit_ Natasha is going to _kill_ her for this, fancy letting a pair of _normals_ catch her out like this and-

Pain flares up from her hip as she’s tossed unceremoniously into the back of an unmarked van, and _goddammit_ if they were going to paralyse her, they could at least have had the decency to make her numb too. The pain dissipates slowly, but Darcy just _knows_ she’s going to have the nastiest of bruises there come morning.

Claude doesn’t linger in the doorway, sparing her only a look of disdain before slamming the doors closed and Darcy is sent into a world of darkness. The cargo hold is separated from the driver by a sturdy-looking grate, and she hears the van start up as the front doors close quietly. Claude says something too low for Darcy to catch and the woman laughs, deep-throated and husky. From her position on the floor of the van, Darcy can just make out the shadowed profile of the woman as she turns to look at Darcy.

“Comfortable back there?” she gloats, and Darcy wishes more than anything in that moment that she could use her powers and electrocute the shit out of the bitch. As though sensing her fury, the woman snickers. “You can try breaking out all you want sugar- that new collar of yours will keep you tame.”

 _Who are you_ , Darcy wants to ask her. _Why are you stealing me? Who are you working for? Who-who-who?_

“Don’t talk to her, Manon,” Claude growls, and Darcy can feel the rumble of the van as it begins to move. “You’ll only encourage her.”

Manon makes a soft sound of dissatisfaction. “But she just looks so _sweet_ ,” she simpers. “I almost want to keep her all to myself.”

Darcy focusses on her breathing- with the paralytic coursing through her veins, she has to make a conscious effort to manage and the possibility of suffocating is too terrifying to contemplate.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Claude says in warning. “You know they had their eyes out for this one.”

“Yes, yes,” Manon sighs. “The _bottom line_.”

“If you really want her, just buy her back after.”

For a moment Darcy forgets to breathe, thoughts racing through her mind. Buy? _After_? Whatever’s going on here, Darcy suspects it’s some fucked up shit. Her thoughts turn to Mitch- beautiful, wonderful Mitch- and she wonders if there wasn’t more to it than just some homeless mutant disappearing from the streets. The possibility makes her nauseous.

The conversation between Manon and Claude carries on, and it takes Darcy a frightening level of effort to return her attentions back to them. Whatever drug they’ve got her on is doing weird things to her concentration, her mind stuck in an odd, floaty place, trapped in the prison of her own body.

“-fun in that?” Manon asks. Her companion just grunts in disinterest and Manon’s head disappears from Darcy’s line of sight as she settles back into her seat. Darcy turns her focus back on breathing, the fear of forgetting to do so too strong to ignore.

Time blurs and Darcy doesn’t know if she’s only been in the van for minutes or hours when there is a sudden and loud _thud_ on the roof of the van.

The vehicle erupts into chaos. Claude curses loudly as the van swerves and Manon begins shouting in a language Darcy doesn’t understand. Glass shatters somewhere and there is a scream of tires and breaks and then Darcy is flying forwards as the van stops suddenly and violently. She lands forcefully against the cage and Darcy feels something break, pain tearing through her torso and face. She tries to scream- breathe- _anything_ but all she can feel is the blinding pain from her shoulder, the scream trapped behind her frozen lips.

The van is silent for a long moment, and then Darcy hears the shriek of tearing metal and cold air invades the cabin. From her crumpled position on the floor, she can’t see who it is, but she hears the sharp intake of breath loud and clear.

“Darcy?”

_James?_

He curses, and she hears him climb into the van, footsteps heavy and comforting. “Darcy?” he asks again, sounding increasingly more alarmed. “God- Darce.”

He rolls her over onto her back carefully, brushing strands of synthetic hair away from her face and the hot metallic taste of blood fills her mouth. She’s fairly certain her nose is broken. Darcy stares up into the concerned face of James as he takes her in, hands gently brushing over her as he checks for injuries. White hot agony flares up when he touches her shoulder, and she’s eternally grateful when she feels the tell-tale signs of unconsciousness approaching. She embraces it willingly.

* * *

Darcy wakes slowly, awareness returning to her in increments.

She hears a steady _beep_ \- high-pitched, the kind that would usually annoy her, but Darcy feels oddly above it all; floaty. Feeling returns to her limbs, but it’s an odd kind of sensation- not like true awareness, but she still feels them well enough.

She opens her eyes slowly, the lights too bright and causing her head to throb. Eventually though, they manage, and she takes in the room she’s in. It’s large, but without personality, with machines to her left and James to her right, dozing in his seat.

She rasps a laugh at the sight of him and James starts awake, breathing deeply. His eyes flicker open and she smiles at him happily. “Hey, Crazy-eyes,” she slurs.

James comes out of his seat, leaning over and cupping her face gently. She leans into his touch, humming at the warmth of him as he kisses her softly. “Darcy,” he breathes against her lips. One of her arms is in a sling, she realises, but she successfully manages to bat clumsily at the front of his shirt with the other. “Hey.”

“Where am I?”

He glances away, to the door in her room. There’s a lot of glass. Too much for your average hospital, for certain. “We’re uh- we’re in Stark Tower.”

Darcy swallows nervously, glancing around the room. Now that she’s looking, she can spot the touches of Stark everywhere. “Do they...?”

He bites his lip, looking beautiful and troubled. “You were… I’m sorry, but I was so…” the troubled look intensifies and Darcy shushes him, her heart melting as she reaches up to pat his face with a little more force than she means so.

“Hey, _hey_. It’s ‘kay, baby,” she smiles up at him loopily. Whatever painkillers they’ve got her on are _good_. “You did the right thing.”

James catches her hand and kisses her palm and Darcy’s not entirely sure if it’s the drugs or something else entirely that makes her stomach dance like that. He’s very sweet.

James laughs. Kisses her hand again. “So are you,” he tells her and Darcy frowns at him in confusion. “You said that out loud.”

“Oh,” she pulls a face, remembering the last time she was this high on painkillers. God, she must have been nineteen. “Yeah that sounds about right. Still doesn’t…” her mind wanders, caught on the way his hand reflects the stark white light, and it takes a moment for her to get herself back on track. “How did you find me?”

James smiles at her ruefully and Darcy figures- fuck it, she’s high- and holds out her good arm for a hug. He stares at her for a long moment, and Darcy wonders what’s going on behind that face, but soon enough he leans forwards and wraps his arms around her. Darcy melts into his embrace, closing her eyes and sighing happily. “This is awesome,” she mumbles into his shoulder and James hums in return, burying his face into her hair.

“I went looking into that story about your brother,” he confesses, sounding sheepish, and Darcy’s mouth drops. “Turns out he’s not the only one; there’s a whole mutant-smuggling cartel going on.”

She blinks at him in shock. “That sounds bad.”

It sounds _really_ bad. in fact. Even in her state, Darcy finds herself wracked by guilt. If this has been happening right under her nose, then who’s to say how many kids have been stolen. How many kids like her brother have gone missing, with no one to mourn their disappearance? She bites his lip to keep the sudden onslaught of tears at bay.

James, as though sensing her distress, pulls away. He kisses her forehead comfortingly. “Don’t blame yourself, doll. They’ve been working underground for years.”

“ _Years?_ ”

James makes a soft, unhappy sound, and kisses her again. “Darce- no. You can’t beat yourself up over this- you were just a kid. They’ve been working in secret; small-time… it’s only recently that they’ve started getting cocky.”

Darcy sniffles, eyes squeezed tight. “We gotta find them. Those poor kids.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and Darcy expends most of her energy on keeping her unstable emotions under control. “You’ll need to heal up first,” he says eventually, and Darcy’s eyes fly open in surprise. She half expected him to do the macho thing and say no.

“Yeah?” she asks shakily. James nods, smiling at her gently.

“We’ll destroy them. Together,” he says. His face turns sad and Darcy wishes she had both hands so she could smoosh his cheeks together. His cheeks are very smooshable. “I don’t… I don’t want to do this alone. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“Then you won’t,” she tells him fiercely, as though it doesn’t take all of her energy to stop herself from bursting into tears at that admission. “We’ll fuck them up. Taser Woman and Assassin Man; we’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”

That startles a laugh out of him and she beams, though he sobers quickly. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

“I do.”

He chuckles and Darcy yawns widely. The effort of staying awake is taking its toll. James smiles. “Sleep,” he tells her. “Your friends will be around when you wake up.”

“Yeah?” she slurs, eyelids growing heavily. He nods.

“I managed to convince them to let me talk to you first.”

“Tha’ss nice of ‘em.”

He smiles, though it’s a little sad around the edges. “Yeah, it was. Now sleep, Darcy.”

So she does, with a smile on her lips and her fingers intertwined with James’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know when another part will go up. Probably not for a while; I'm getting close to finishing Be Near Me Now, so I think I'll be focusing a lot of my efforts that way. But thank-you to everyone who's read this fic; ya'll are amazing and I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and chat with me on [tumblr](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/) :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [fame < infamy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757397) by [bleuboxes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/pseuds/bleuboxes)




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